


I Can See the Fire in Your Eyes

by QueenoftheBritons



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Episode: s05e03 The Death Song of Uther Pendragon, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlioske-friendly, Protective Knights (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: The new king blinked, a slight frown settling, faint crinkles forming above the bridge of his nose, as his father finished, “the boy, your love, Merlin,” the phantom spat, “he has, is, magic. Destroy him, the one the Druids call Emrys, and you will wield a fear over magic we can only imagine.”“Merlin?” Arthur whispered.“Merlin has magic,” Uther reaffirmed, and Arthur was sure he saw flames burning in his eyes as he mentioned the name, as if memories of all those sent to burn passed across his mind in a flash.Uther, being able to see most things in his kingdom while in the afterlife, reveals Merlin's secret to Arthur before the new King leaves the veil.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 1289
Collections: Emrys is a mess





	I Can See the Fire in Your Eyes

Arthur felt his footing lose itself a moment, his eyes watering just a little, as he listened to the words of his father. The man he had looked up to for so many years, who might have spoken some words of wisdom in the last moment they would ever have together, spoke only to tear down the world he created.

“If I were at your side, I fear you would not like all that I have to say.” Uther spoke with his own sadness gleaming from cold eyes, staring solemnly at his child, his heir.

His father had not been by his side, though, and although he had tried to emulate him, tried to figure out what he might do were he still alive, Arthur inevitably took a different turn along the way, choosing a different way to rule; a better way, he had thought. The ghost of Uther vehemently disagreed. Lights cracked around the phantom, blinking more and more, and Arthur did not have to understand magic to know it was fading, it was almost time. His heart ached, and he stuttered a sound, unable to find the words to speak.

“I must go soon,” Uther dropped his gaze for a moment, debating something within his mind. The next second he looked up, he stared at his son with a purpose. “But there is something you must know.”

Arthur only waited with bated breath, itching for a little more time, aching to show his father what he had done, he had done for the good of Camelot.

“There is magic, in the kingdom, at the very _heart_ of it.” His father scowled, a hatred still pure even in death, “it is close to you. All of the choices you have gone against me, my son, but you must follow my instructions on this: destroy the servant boy.”

The new king blinked, a slight frown settling, faint crinkles forming above the bridge of his nose, as his father finished, “the boy, your _love,_ Merlin,” the phantom spat, “he has, _is_ magic. Destroy him, the one the Druids call Emrys, and you will wield a fear over magic we can only imagine.”

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered.

“Merlin has magic,” Uther reaffirmed, and Arthur was sure he saw flames burning in his eyes as he mentioned the name, as if memories of all those sent to burn passed across his mind in a flash.

* * *

Arthur stormed from the veil, eyes forward, brushing past Merlin without even a glance in his direction. He knew he would follow, because he always followed. Wherever the King went, those who knew him well knew they would not fail to find the servant close at his heels. Usually they could probably hear him chatting, anyway.

The man knew when to stay quiet, on occasion, and fortunately as they rode to find somewhere to camp, the man stayed dutifully by his side with lips tightly sealed. The King had a lot to think about, so much to mull over, and he continued to catch the other man in his peripheral vision, watching him closely, fingers wrapping so tightly around the reins his knuckles turned a cold white.

Settling down though when making camp, Merlin cooking food silently still, Arthur sat with his knees up, hands bundled together in front of his face as thoughts continued to invade his never settling mind. Still, he had not allowed his eyes to fully focus on Merlin, and it was actually a surprise to him that it took this long for the man to break.

Darkness had already fallen, but the two men were still quite awake, Merlin clearing up the empty plates before practically throwing himself to the ground. Pushing himself up on an elbow, he half sat, half lay across the grass opposite Arthur, staring intently with a stern, cautious expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merlin spoke clearly, but on receiving no response, he tried once more. “What happened at the stones?”

Arthur rolled his eyes in dismay, sighing, because Merlin was nothing if not persistent, and Arthur was nothing if not easily swayed by him. “It seems my father doesn’t approve of the way I have chosen to rule his kingdom,” he let out in a long despondent breath, staring deep into the fire with frosty, tired eyes, recalling a certain smell, a disgusting stench that one could not remove from the mind even after a brief whiff. The pungent smell had been evoked from his visit, and he found himself trying to remove the image that came with it, one his mind had only created, because it was not true. Yet.

“You mean _your_ kingdom,” the servant spoke with an unnerving loyalty that had Arthur’s eyes looking up in an instant, finally focusing on him.

Still, he shrugged, “the things he said about the knights,” he shook his head sombrely, “and about…” he trailed lamely, but he saw some understanding twinkle in Merlin’s eyes.

“He spoke of me?” Merlin asked softly, “about our partnership?”

Arthur found himself nodding along, because it was not exactly a lie, Uther had shown his disgust of Arthur’s romantic choices. Staring at Merlin now, the man’s face lighting in the firelight, it was difficult for the King to remove any image of it doing so in more sinister circumstances, and he turned his head away.

His partner must have believed it was because of what he had said, because he soon felt his jacket brush against his chainmail, the man huffing as he put himself down beside Arthur more gently than he had sat before. Arthur turned to get a side glance of him, and the man hugged his knees as he focused his full stare on the King.

“Do you believe what he says?” Merlin nudged him gently, “you have always done what you believed to be right. People respect you.”

Arthur turned to look at him better now, staring at him for what felt like ages, but was probably only a few seconds, eyes searching for something, not sure what, though. Was he different in some way? His thoughts would never leave him, and he knew tonight sleep would not find him easily, even with Merlin next to him. “Thank you, Merlin.” He nodded, staring back at the fire, watching sparks fly off it with almost silent bangs.

“Some people still think you’re a foolish, arrogant ass,” the man teased, nudging the King again.

“Who?” Arthur asked, turning again, rolling his eyes as the smirk rose more hesitantly on the other man’s idiot face, “very funny.” Still, he reacted no more, shrugging, “we should get some sleep.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, brushing his hand against Arthur’s own, trying to offer some closer comfort. Arthur’s eyes looked down at the gesture, eyes watching carefully, but he made no move to remove it, or to try to sleep. “The people believe in you, _I_ believe in you, the King you _are_. You rule with their trust, not their fear.” Arthur focused again on the fire, but heard the shaky hesitance in Merlin’s next breath as he spoke again, “and… you know, I’ve always said if you must marry for an alliance, I will support you. I will be by your side, no matter what. If that is what _you_ want to do.”

Arthur closed his eyes softly, painfully, the force of the statement hitting him in one blow, breaking a part of his heart. He felt completely overwhelmed with feelings, emotions that his father had never prepared him to deal with, and he took in a shuddering breath, trying to cover it with a small cough. Merlin must have noticed, because his grip on his hand tightened, but it only pushed the thoughts of his father’s words further to the forefront of his mind.

“I will only ever marry for love,” he whispered sternly, hoping Merlin had caught it, because he felt he could not say it again. He needed to rest, to make decisions in the new day, to pray that he might wake, and this could all be a dream.

His brain was far away when Merlin pulled his hands towards him, pressing a tender kiss to the tense knuckles of the King, and he wondered how he might bring himself from this.

* * *

The meeting was beyond dull, as meetings were when the kingdom’s most prominent rival had not made a move against them in some time. Merlin never forgot her presence, though, and he knew her absence only caused more tension within in the kingdom. Perhaps he should enjoy these boring moments, then. Before his sigh could escape, his breath caught instantly, the doors to the Council Chambers smashing open a strange rush of movement, banging loudly against the walls. All eyes focused immediately, those knights resting lazily against the table suddenly sitting ramrod straight, and Merlin knew there was a light of fear in their eyes. His whole body tensed, and he hated himself for hating the boredom.

They moved on, all eyes around the table shifty, yet shoulders dropping their guard as Leon’s droning continued, and the second strike came down over them, literally. Candelabra lay broken on the large round table, leaving ugly scratches against the beautiful wooden desk that symbolised the unity and equality Arthur pursued with an admirable diligence when he became steadier on his feet as King, and sparks of suspicion started the cogs in Merlin’s brain as he stared with wide eyes at the damaged symbol.

That had simply been the start of it, and soon any could be a victim to the ghost of Uther, seeking vengeance against his son’s tearing down of a dead man’s legacy. Percival and Guinevere could have been more seriously hurt, and Merlin feared for the safety of others, as well as himself. His blood turned cold when he faced the phantom, its anger so strong that it emulated the same of the man when he lived, the only thing that radiated from the late King.

He could not hesitate to use magic to prevent the attack as Arthur had already been knocked cold, with a callousness that could only have festered in death, but many had seen it in his old rule.

“I was born with it!” He spoke with a shaky confidence, trying to hold his stare with the empty eyes of the fearful King.

“I made you his servant, but I will not allow you and your kind to poison my kingdom, my son!” The ghost advanced on him with fierce ire, but Merlin felt his own confidence building as he faced him down.

“You’re wrong!” His throat scratched as he shouted.

Uther stopped then, an echo of a smirk lighting his face, “Arthur will see you for what you are, and when he is ready, he will dispose of you as if you were nothing, barely even a servant.” The dead King spat, then, with a raise of eyebrows, continued his advance. Again, the warlock did not hesitate, prepared this time to throw the King backwards through the doors. It would not get rid of him for good, but it gave him time to check on Arthur.

Their torment finally came to a sombre end, and he saw the unshed tears in Arthur’s eyes as the King blew on the horn a final time; Merlin’s heart hammered against his chest, though, as he feared what Uther could have revealed in those final moments.

“Arthur,” he let out a whoosh of breath, trying to catch it without luck.

The King’s eyes dropped timidly, his grip on the horn tightening as he refused to look at Merlin.

“Arthur,” he repeated, a bit more solidly, hoping he might bring his partner back.

“Merlin,” Arthur shook his head, bringing his head up quickly, “not now.”

And the warlock’s heart faltered again, watching him closely.

“We’ll speak later,” the King sighed, turning his back on him.

Merlin watched him leave, glistening eyes following his back before they met the door.

* * *

Arthur heard his father’s desperate final words ringing in his head for awhile after, and he put a hand over his eyes, devastated that that would now be forever his final moment with the man. Maybe it had not been him, but it was some part of him, the part that had taken him over as hatred coursed through his veins when he had been breathing.

It had been a few days that he had seen Merlin properly, not yet ready to face anyone, but he had focused only on his duties for some time now. Still, in moments they were brought together, when he watched his partner’s eyes linger over him even from behind, he felt a tug at his heart. While they were together, pushed in certain moments that could not be avoided, the King kept a close watchful eye on the man, wondering if he had any idea of the concept of self-preservation. Whenever they returned, or had finished whatever it was they had to do together, he would offer a kind, but rather lame, excuse, and would leave Merlin in a flurry of red, rushing back to find the books he had requested from Geoffrey sitting on his desk.

The days past, and each time Merlin came to serve him, offer him some comfort, he ached to speak more to him, but every time he stared up at him, words stuck in his throat as it dried up. It was clear in Merlin’s desperate expression that he wished he would say something, too, but he never pushed. He came as close as the King allowed, but never overstepped, and it gave Arthur a great pain.

* * *

Merlin sat despondently in the armoury, polishing the already shining armour. Sometimes he would catch his reflection but would not linger on it, knowing how pitiable he must look. It had only been a few days, but they were dragging, and his thoughts drifted often now because he had little to occupy him. Arthur usually filled his days with chores, which in fairness, continued, but the rest of his day he would be following his King, arguing with him, offering some advice. Right now, though, the ruler sat in his chambers thinking alone more, and whenever Merlin entered, the tension rose as he closed the door; Arthur would look up to him, with some unfathomable stare, crinkles appearing as he frowned, lips parting as if he might say something. He might tell him to do something, but the servant knew there was something more on the lips, something he would never say.

_“Merlin has-”_

The warlock flinched unconsciously, his anxiety returning of the night. At first, it had not crossed his mind, but with the growing aloofness of the King, his partner, Merlin found himself worrying his lip more often. Perhaps he had not heard Uther finish his sentence, because his heart had been pounding, breath coming in short, scratching bursts, that he might have simply missed it. Had he actually told Arthur?

He spoke more to Gaius about it, who had tried to reassure him the King was probably registering his father’s appearance, nothing more. The old man could not hide the anxiety in his stare, though, and with years of practice, Merlin could finally notice it with ease. His guardian had spent so long trying to protect him, he would hate to have to confess that Uther, in fact his ghost, no less, had finally revealed his secret. Fire lit in his mind’s eye, but he still thought at least Arthur would not send him to the pyre. Would he banish him? Could he live without him? Could Merlin leave Arthur?

His polishing became more fervent, but he heard the boots pressing softly against the floorboards as several pairs of feet crossed the threshold into the armoury. He looked up then, hoping it might be Arthur; his eyes fell, although he tried to smile, because the men still meant something to him.

“Merlin,” Gwaine smiled with a care reserved for him, and Merlin perked up a little at that, feeling the man’s hand on his shoulder as it gave a gentle press.

The other knights all bustled into the room, Gwaine and Leon sitting either side of him as Percival and Elyan sat across, all eyes focused on him. He wondered how pitiful he must appear, so tried again to smile the grin they were used to. The sombre smiles he received in return only told him his attempt was unsuccessful, and he shrugged, placing the over-polished armour down as he let himself bask in the comfort of friends.

“He’s been off with everyone,” Elyan offered, patting the servant on the knee.

Percival nodded, “he won’t see anyone.”

Merlin shook his head, “but why?”

There was silence, as none could answer, but then Leon continued, “the most people have seen is someone taking him books.”

Merlin frowned, but already knew about this, having seen dusty piles on Arthur’s desk, but had been almost forbidden to take a look.

“He’ll come ‘round,” Gwaine offered, plastering on a cheerful smile, “and if not, you know we’ll give him hell.” He winked at Merlin, and that did bring a genuine smile to the servant’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“How can you be _more_ irritating?” Elyan asked the knight playfully, earning him a mock gasp in offense.

“I can make _you_ miserable, too,” Gwaine pointed a finger at him, and Elyan lifted both hands in surrender, laughing under his breath.

“It won’t come to that, though,” Leon offered kindly, “I know Arthur, he values your opinion more highly than most others.”

“If that’s true,” Merlin sighed, “why won’t he speak to me, properly?” He stared at them all with beseeching eyes, all humour leaving the room in an instant as they looked at him with sad eyes.

Gwaine shrugged, “sometimes people have problems they can only wrestle alone,”

“It doesn’t mean he thinks any less of you,” Percival added.

“I suppose,” Merlin nodded unconvincingly, but what else could he say, when nobody knew what had come over the King recently.

“Either way,” Elyan heaved himself up, “that armour’s had about a week’s worth of polishing,”

“You need a break,” Gwaine brought Merlin up with him, and the servant watched him with suspicious eyes. “Just because the King’s busy, doesn’t mean you can’t have a break. Let’s go find something fun to do,”

“Maybe you can steal us some nice food,” Percival rubbed his hands together, eliciting a small chuckle from the warlock, while Leon rolled his eyes.

“Do you ever think of anything else than food?” Elyan nudged the other knight, but Percival shrugged.

Merlin followed them from the armoury, mostly because they held him an in impossible embrace one could not break from, even with the use of magic. Still, a smile lit his face as they chatted to him about nothing, and he was grateful they stuck around.

* * *

Arthur was unsure how long it had truly been, all he knew is that it had been _too_ long. His heart ached, body burning, itching for him to finally get it out, reveal the truth behind his work. It had to be ready, though, and with a wistful smile, he placed the documents down as his eyes continued to rove over them, admiring each handwritten word. It had taken days, it was harder than many other things he had done as King, but somehow easier, too.

When Merlin came in, shuffling his feet with a sadness that had overcome the both of them with their unusual change in tension, Arthur finally looked up at him with a light across his face, and he hopped Merlin might sense the new feeling in the room, the beginning of something.

“Merlin,” he spoke with a breath that had been waiting to escape since the very beginning, and the man turned to him with a swiftness that clearly caused some ache in his neck. “Merlin, will you sit with me?” He asked softly, waving his hand to indicate the seat opposite.

Merlin appeared hesitant, skittish, and there was a fear he might run away; Arthur wondered if it had been too long, but he had seen no other way to handle it without secrecy, and so stared at the man deeply, hoping he might see there was no place for fear here. Fortunately, the man took a step closer, edging towards the soft chair before finally, cautiously, sitting down, watching the King with the same worry.

“I’m sorry,” he wrapped his fingers together, sincerity in his eyes, “I have had an issue I could only deal with alone.”

Merlin flicked an eyebrow up, fear fighting an anger.

“I wanted to tell you, but I have had to do some research on my own,” Arthur explained, hoping he was appearing humble, “it was not something you could help me with.”

“And what was it?” Merlin spoke firmly, but Arthur sensed the tremor in his thoughts.

“I have been thinking,” Arthur stared, keeping his eyes on the man in front, “of repealing the ban on magic.”

Merlin’s expression, flicking between emotions as a woman went through outfits for an evening, made Arthur grateful he had asked him to sit down, because he feared the man might have dropped where he stood.

“Arthur,” he sighed out, blinking back tears, that he tried awfully not to show. “I have to tell you something,”

The King smiled tentatively, “then tell me,” he whispered. “Take your time,” he spoke after a moment, Merlin moving in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

“I’ve been wondering why you haven’t wanted to see me,” the servant shook his head, avoiding the topic.

Arthur let him, “I didn’t want to, I wished to speak to you.”

“But you couldn’t,” Merlin shook his head in understanding, “because if you mean what you say, about… _magic_ ,” his throat closed, words coming out slowly, “I have my own stake in this decision.”

The King waited, looking at him with sweet, knowing eyes, he whispered, “tell me.”

“I have-” he whispered but broke off, swallowing hard. Arthur was patient, though. “I have magic.”

* * *

_“There is magic, in the kingdom, at the very heart of it.” His father scowled, a hatred still pure even in death, “it is close to you. All of the choices you have gone against me, my son, but you must follow my instructions on this: destroy the servant boy.”_

_The new king blinked, a slight frown settling, faint crinkles forming above the bridge of his nose, as his father finished, “the boy, your_ love _, Merlin,” the phantom spat, “he has,_ is _magic. Destroy him, the one the Druids call Emrys, and you will wield a fear over magic we can only imagine.”_

_“Merlin?” Arthur whispered._

_“Merlin has magic,” Uther reaffirmed, and Arthur was sure he saw flames burning in his eyes as he mentioned the name, as if memories of all those sent to burn passed across his mind in a flash._

Arthur was unsure what it was, perhaps the way his father spat the man’s name, but there was a growth of confidence in him, surging through him like his own magic as he stared at the ghost of the old fearful King, who must have seen many ghosts of his own creation, and he clenched his jaw, along with his fists, as he looked the phantom in its dead eyes.

“I _know_.”

* * *

The King grabbed at Merlin’s hands with his own trembling fingers, eyes wet at the sight of Merlin either tearing from anxiety or relief, or every emotion he had been building up for most of his life. And he waited, letting it pour from him, letting every tense part of his body ease as years of fear must have swept from him.

“I have magic,” he whispered again, and Arthur’s grip tightened.

“I know, Merlin,” he replied, “I know.”

His partner looked at him with confused eyes, and stuttered, “your father-”

“I knew before then, before he returned.”

“How long?” Merlin’s voice somehow became even quieter.

“I’m not sure,” a huff of wet laughter came out as he shrugged, shaking his head. “It has been some time.”

“You… you never said?” Merlin’s nose crinkled.

“And neither did you,” watching Merlin recoil a little, his eyes widened, and he continued quickly, “no, I don’t blame you. I understand. I hoped I could show you that you could trust me, but I realised only recently that there was more I must do.”

“I trust you,”

“I know that, too.”

“I just, I wasn’t sure,”

Arthur shushed him, knowing he would find an excuse, to absolve the King from any blame. “I mean what I say, though, I want to find a way to make it right for you, for your people.”

“Can you?”

“I will do everything,” he lifted Merlin’s hands up then, pressing a soft kiss to white knuckles, eyes on those of the warlock, a silent promise on his lips. “You trust me?”

Merlin stared at him now, a strength in him, “with my life.”

* * *

Merlin grinned a completely new smile, one he might never get used to. The light blue robes were a perfect fit on him, but he wondered if he would be allowed to put on his familiar jacket and neckerchief soon. He voiced the thought to Arthur, who rolled his eyes at him and threw his hands up, telling him he must be the only person who found comfort in paper thin clothes.

“Anyway, no, you can’t,” Arthur nudged him. “Today especially,” he shook his head in exasperation, and Merlin grinned.

“I do like them,” Merlin assured the King, who offered him a tender smile.

“I’m glad.” Arthur stared at him, wrapping his hand in his, bodies touching, “are you ready for this?”

“No,” Merlin shook his head, an impossible smile on his face as nervous laughter escaped him, and he stared at Arthur with excitement.

“Me neither,” Arthur teased, “I can’t quite believe I’m doing it.”

Merlin shot him a glare, but there was no threat in it as it almost instantly fell back into his grin, “I’ve waited for this moment… for so long.”

“Enjoy it,” the King stared at him, eyes dropping to his lips, nervous energy urging them together, closer, for some quick comfort. Merlin found himself leaning forward just as Arthur did so, the King closing his eyes first.

“Can we come in?” A voice shouted from outside the door to the chambers, and Merlin opened his eyes, grinning as he heard Arthur let out an irritated, disappointed groan. Before either of them could refuse the knight, Gwaine popped his head in, sensing the irritation as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Arthur moved a step backwards, throwing his hands up as the knight entered anyway, followed shortly by the others who had the grace to look guilty.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Leon offered.

“We just wanted to see you before the whole ceremony,” Gwaine grinned, clapping Merlin’s hand in a strong gesture, and the warlock was grateful for his strength as without it, he might have just fallen over with the emotion sweeping over him.

“You can’t cry before we do this, you know,” Arthur teased, Merlin rolling his eyes, rubbing at his sniffly nose. “I was talking to Gwaine.”

“I will cry before, during, and after, if I so wish, Queenie.”

Merlin grinned widely as the others came around him, offering their own gestures of support.

It was only a few moments before more wandering feet found their way into the room, softer, holding a lady who had bright eyes, pausing to take a breath as she took in the sight of the soon to be Court Sorcerer. Merlin caught her eyes, and hated it because he really should not cry so much _before_ the ceremony. Gwen put her hands over her mouth in a gasp, walking to him slowly as she looked him over.

“It suits you,” she managed to say, fingers glossing over the noble robes her old friend wore. She stared up at him then, smile breaking out, “I’m so happy for you,” and before he knew it, Merlin was wrapped into a tight hug.

“I suppose I can get in on that,” he heard Gwaine say before he felt his arms around him, too. Soon, all of the knights had their arms around him in the most ridiculous gesture, and Merlin gave up on trying to hold back any tears.

“Yes, well,” Arthur cleared his throat after several minutes had passed, and nobody showed any sign of moving, “it will start soon.” All eyes looked to the King, everyone understanding the silent order there.

With final pats on the back, smiles, and good lucks, his friends trudged out of the room, wishing they could stay.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Merlin turned to Arthur with a teasing grin, “your subjects might prefer me.”

Arthur blinked, shaking his head, “I think I regret it with every second that passes.”

Merlin moved closer to him again, waiting eagerly to begin again where they left off, “you could always banish me.” He dared, pleased Arthur moved in, too, hand grazing up his arm before finding a grip.

“I think they might just overthrow me if I tried,” Merlin raised his eyebrows in agreement, before they finally were close enough and he let his lips echo over his King’s.

Arthur was impatient, as ever, and, not appreciating the tease, brought him closer so that they would finally touch, bending into each other as lips pressed together warmly. Merlin breathed his scent, kissing with a passion that he felt could never go out.

* * *

_Arthur was unsure what it was, perhaps the way his father spat the man’s name, but there was a growth of confidence in him, surging through him like his own magic as he stared at the ghost of the old fearful King, who must have seen many ghosts of his own creation, and he clenched his jaw, along with his fists, as he looked the phantom in its dead eyes._

_“I_ know _.”_

Arthur looked back at his father, before the veil might close, and he would leave without being sure his father knew how he felt. How he hurt at his words.

“I love him for who he is, and I will always love him. One day, we will rule together, as _equals_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all like this! If you do, the kudos button isn't far below, and if the mood suits you, comments give me life :)


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